


weigh your heart against my eyes (are you sober now?)

by despitethewives (choirboyharem)



Category: Video Blogging RPF, supermega
Genre: (mainly because matt's very drunk and ryan very isn't), Daddy Kink, Established Relationship, Extremely Dubious Consent, Father/Son Incest, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Past Sexual Abuse, Past Underage Sex, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-26
Updated: 2021-01-26
Packaged: 2021-03-15 05:20:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,994
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28807989
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/choirboyharem/pseuds/despitethewives
Summary: Matt has never been very good at coping with trauma. Then again, he's never really been forced to until now.
Relationships: Matt Watson/Dale Watson, Ryan Magee/Matt Watson
Comments: 12
Kudos: 33





	weigh your heart against my eyes (are you sober now?)

**Author's Note:**

> if you know this is content that you're not gonna like just based on the tags + summary, don't read any further. and if you do, don't say i didn't warn you and don't vaguepost about me on twitter or in the supermega subreddit, don't be a pussy and just send a hitman after me instead
> 
> i will give another fair warning for explicit underage sexual abuse though, the fic opens with that but if you really don't care to see it, ctrl + f or scroll until you get to _'Matt coughed and hacked and wheezed, feeling his chest seize.'_
> 
> also: the title is from daddy by badflower

“Daddy?” Matt rubbed his eyes and automatically reached for his glasses, sitting up against the headboard. His comforter slid away from him and left him in his t-shirt and pajama shorts. His father lingered next to the bed and he looked too tall in the darkness. 

“Hey, Matty,” he whispered, hesitating for a moment before carefully sitting at the edge of the bed. He reached out and his hand found Matt’s leg. It felt so big and warm, singing his thigh. “Matty.” 

Matt just blinked. “What is it?” he asked softly. 

“I…” Dale rubbed Matt’s thigh, light and gentle. “Sometimes, uh.” He coughed a little. “Sometimes there’s these—sometimes we feel things that we can’t really explain. Sometimes we have needs. We need to do things to make ourselves feel better. Sometimes, um, adults do things because they know better and they do them because they love you and this is one of those things.” His voice sounded all warm and a little slurry. Maybe he was drunk again. His hand slid further up Matt’s thigh until his fingers touched the crease of his son’s hip. 

Matt froze, total confusion making a switch in his brain flicker. “Um, okay.” He didn’t know what his dad was talking about. He didn’t know what his dad was doing here in the first place. 

“Don’t move. Don’t—don’t scream. Please. I love you.” Dale’s voice broke a little as he slipped his fingers past the waistband of Matt’s shorts, working them down. “And, God, don’t tell your mother. Never tell your mother.”

“Tell her what?” Matt’s voice wavered. “Daddy—?”

Matt suddenly couldn’t talk behind the pair of chapped lips pressed against his. Dale’s other hand cradled the back of Matt’s head, holding him in place, firm and unmoving. Matt couldn’t breathe. He felt scared, scared and guilty, shameful in a way that boiled hot and heavy and thick in his gut. 

Dale’s hand covered his… his _thing_ , fingers warm around it. No one, not ever, was allowed to touch him there. Matt knew that. He was supposed to tell his pastor or his teacher or his parents about it, but, well, no one in the video they’d watched at youth group had said what to do if your dad was doing it. He felt like he was going to cry. It was the same burn in his throat, the same scratching sensation, but worse. 

“Daddy?” Matt choked out when Dale pulled his mouth away again. “What are you doing?” 

“Shh,” Dale said, stroking his thumb up. It was terrifying, too big for Matt to understand, so far beyond him. The worst part was how it felt, well, kind of good. Matt squirmed and whined, feeling the corners of his eyes sting. 

“I’m not trying to hurt you, Matty.” Dale withdrew his hand only to unzip his own pants. Matt’s eyes blinked wide, his breath quickening. His father wasn’t touching him anymore, so things were fine, right? They should’ve been. For some reason, though, Matt had the feeling that it was going to get so much worse. 

Dale’s hands curled around Matt’s hips and pulled him forward. The backs of his thighs were on his father’s knees. Matt heard Dale spit into his hand and it was so baffling that Matt forgot to be scared for a second. 

It was cold on Matt’s backside. Matt jolted with it, gasping, staring at Dale in the pitch-black room. All he could see were vague outlines. Maybe he could pretend that this wasn’t _really_ his dad. 

When Dale hitched Matt up higher and thrust his hips forward, pretending that this wasn’t his dad was all he could physically do.

“Matt?”

Matt coughed and hacked and wheezed, feeling his chest seize. Everything hurt. It was like he was on fire, his skin tearing and splitting. He bled around his father. He clutched at the shoulders above him, fingers clawing, his heart pounding. 

“Matt, hey, hey, what’s wrong? Hey.” 

Matt’s eyes opened again. He let out a strange sob, his eyes wide and rimmed in red as he looked up at the man above him. 

Ryan looked back down at Matt with a troubled, frustrated frown. “Do you wanna stop?” 

“Uh…” Matt couldn’t open his mouth. He’d slipped into the same memory again. 

For whatever reason, it’d been happening a lot more often lately. He was so easily reduced to that pathetic, traumatized little kid every time the sex was just a little bit wrong. And it sucked. Mostly for Ryan, really, because none of this shit was his fault. He was just forced to put up with it because he’d made the mistake of caring about Matt beyond a platonic level.

“It’s okay. Sorry. I’m sorry. W-we can—we can keep going.”

“No, it’s fine.” Ryan sighed and pulled out of him. Matt exhaled, covering his face with his hands. 

“I’m sorry,” Matt mumbled. “I really am. I’m sorry this keeps happening.” 

“It’s fine. It’s okay. It’s just, like.” Ryan looked away, scratching a hand through his hair. It was growing out so thick and curly. Whenever he let Matt play with it, it was a borderline spiritual experience. Matt had the urge to sit them down in a field of wildflowers or something and braid them through Ryan’s hair all afternoon. “I’m just kind of getting tired of you saying you want this, almost following through on it, and then backing out. It’s every single time. You know the only actual time you’ve let me come was the night you got so drunk that you pretty much couldn’t see?”

Matt’s brow furrowed. “Wait, what the fuck? I don’t remember that.”

“Figures.” Ryan climbed out of bed and began to hunt around for his shorts. “But you get what I’m saying, Matt. You get it, right?”

“Yeah. I get it.” Matt brought his knees to his chest, feeling small. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me,” he said quietly. 

Ryan was silent for a moment, slipping a band off his wrist so he could tie his hair up. Matt glanced up so he could watch Ryan hold the elastic between his teeth, sweeping dark hair away from his face with nimble hands. “Are you, like, asexual or something?”

“No,” Matt said quickly. “Nah, that’s not it. Besides, like, even if I was, do you think I’d follow through on any of this to begin with? Asexuals don’t have sex at all, right?”

“I don’t know what the fuckin’ terms are.” Ryan sat back down at the end of the bed, looking at his phone rather than at Matt. “Does any of this have anything to do with, I don’t know, trauma, maybe?”

Matt gave a small, sad little shrug. “I dunno.” 

Ryan looked back up. “Does it?” 

“I said I don’t know.”

“So… it’s possible. You could be traumatized from something.”

“I’m not saying that.”

“Well, I am.” Ryan looked like he was trying to search for something in particular in Matt’s face, like he would’ve been able to see a flipbook of all the time Matt had been abused if he watched his eyes. “What haven’t you told me?” 

“I’ve told you pretty much every single intimate detail of my childhood at this point, dude. There’s not a lot you don’t know about me. Look, you’re the one with not only the divorced parents, but also the pedophile youth leader and all that shit. My childhood was fine.”

“You’re deflecting, Matthew. Besides, I told you, I was not personally pedophiled. That wasn’t trauma. And I was also not traumatized by divorce, I’ll have you know. That didn’t traumatize me. Matt, your dad beat you with a _belt_ when you were in goddamn _middle school_ and you think you’re not traumatized? You think you didn’t, like—”

“Didn’t what?” Matt asked, narrowing his eyes.

Ryan rolled his eyes. “Okay, like, I know you’re sick of it being brought up as this whole thing that has some kind of deeper meaning or whatever, and I know it doesn’t have a deeper meaning, I get it, it’s just a joke, but I’m just saying, it’s not, you know, _normal_ to grow up getting beat by your dad and then you write a song about—”

“Oh my God, fuck off.” Matt felt heat creep up the back of his neck as he got to his feet, snatching his shirt off the floor. “I’m not doing this.” 

“I’m just saying!”

“Well, _stop_ saying. You think I don’t wanna have sex with you just because my dad spanked me when I was a kid? Maybe I’m just not gay after all! Maybe that’s it, Ryan. Maybe I don’t wanna have sex with you because I’m not actually gay.”

Ryan snorted. “Don’t bullshit me. That’s not even fair, Matt, because _you’re_ the gay one to begin with. That’s our dynamic, remember?”

“I seriously don’t wanna argue about this again, but fucking a guy _at all_ if you are also a guy is gay.”

“It’s not gay if it’s with the homies. And especially not if that homie is you. Traps aren’t gay, Matt; I thought we agreed on this.”

“I’m not a fucking trap. Do you even know what a trap is?”

“A trap is a very skinny, pretty, effeminate anime girl who tricks straight guys into being gay. Thus—”

“That’s not what a trap is! A trap is a crossdresser! They’re girls, but they have a penis!”

“You’re a girl with a penis,” Ryan dismissed, standing and slipping his phone in his pocket. “Look, man, you know I won’t make you do anything. You don’t have to tell me anything. It’s fine. But I want you to be able to deal with it, because I can’t keep scaring you every time I touch you. At some point, I’ll just have to stop touching you.”

Matt had been yearning this for so long that the idea of Ryan withdrawing from him again scared the living shit out of him. Worse than Ryan not knowing about his feelings was Ryan knowing and not caring. Matt was so hopelessly fucking lucky to have gotten this far, to have gotten everything he could’ve ever wanted after spending years feeling sick and scared and lost and lonely, and he wasn’t going to let something this small and stupid and insignificant ruin his One Good Thing. 

“I can deal with it,” Matt said. And he would. He made up his mind, firmly, that he would. “I swear. I’ll deal with it.”

* * *

Dale sounded tired when he picked up the phone. “Matt?”

“Hey, Dad.” Matt picked at a hangnail, pulling it until it burned. A bead of blood formed on his cuticle. 

“Hey. Did you need something?”

 _Yes? No?_ “I just wanted to talk, I guess.”

“About what?”

“Just in general. I did wanna ask you a question, but…”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Matt noticed how weird one of his fingernails looked from breaking the other day and he took an X-Acto knife from the pencil cup on his desk. “I, um. I was just talking to Ryan about, like, bad childhood memories and it just… made me think about stuff.”

“Okay,” Dale said carefully. 

“Do you regret anything?” Matt asked, his voice cracking. He didn’t know what he was saying, he didn’t know what he was accomplishing by this, he didn’t know what he was expecting Dale to tell him. He didn’t know what the point of this was. Closure, maybe?

“Of course I do,” Dale said, his tone hard and quiet. “Every day. And there’s nothing more to say about it. I’ve been forgiven for it and so have you.”

“Wow, that’s easy, isn’t it?” Matt hacked away at his fingernail with the knife. “Just like that, huh? So I can forget about everything and I’ll be okay for the rest of my life? I’ll never think about it again?” 

“I never said that. What I’m saying is that you can’t live in regret. You can’t change the past, so don’t try. That’s what I mean. But I never said it was easy.”

“I’m not trying to change anything. I just—” Matt felt a horrible lump in his throat that cut him off before he could finish. “Do you know how hard it is? I have to think about it all the time.”

“You don’t think that some of that is self-inflicted?” Dale said tightly. 

“What?”

“I know how you joke with your friends and how you think having a sense of humor like that will impress them or shock them or something, or the people that watch you will think it’s funny, but you sure do dedicate a lot of time to wallowing in this.”

“They do think it’s funny. I think it’s funny.” Matt laughed humorlessly. “It’s funny because it’s the only way I can cope with the horrible shit you put me through. It’s fun pretending that I actually wanted it.”

“Is this why you called me? So you could make me apologize for the same mistake over and over again?”

“There were a lot of steps for it just being a ‘mistake’, Dad.” 

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry, Matt. I am. Do you know how much it hurts to know how badly it left you? I wish I could take it all back. Every single second of it. I don’t know how many times you need to hear that before you believe me.”

“It’s not that I don’t believe you, it’s just that it doesn’t, uh, help. It doesn’t do anything. I don’t want you to feel guilty; I want it to have never happened. I don’t want you to have anything to feel guilty about.” 

“I don’t either.” Dale sighed, sounding so much older in that moment than he ever had before. It was strange to think about how, in this moment, Matt wouldn’t be able to talk to him like this forever. “There isn’t anything else I can say. Nothing that’s gonna make this better. And I’m sorry.”

“Yeah. I know.” The knife slid sideways and sliced into Matt’s finger. 

“I love you, son.”

“I know. ‘Night, Dad.”

“‘Night.”

Dale was the first one to hang up. The pain from Matt’s cut seemed to have had a delayed reaction. He hissed and dragged his heel across the carpet, grabbing a tissue from the box on his desk so he could clutch at his finger. 

At least it gave him something else to focus on. His lungs seemed to be on fire. 

* * *

“Are you working?” 

“Uh, no. I left some stuff at the ‘plex earlier. I’m coming home soon.”

“Oh.” Matt watched the ceiling swim above him. He was on his third Smirnoff Ice and he’d wound up on the floor somehow. “Thas’ cool. Sweet. Do you wanna come over?”

“Do you _want_ me to come over?” 

“Yeah. I do. I want you to come over. Please,” Matt begged quietly, turning his head so his cheek was pressed against the carpet. “Just for a while. I might be, um.” He hiccuped and it sounded liquid. “Slightly inebriated.” 

“Is this because of earlier? Look, I’m sorry that—” 

“It’s okay. S’fine. I love you. I’m just drinking.”

“Yeah,” Ryan said cautiously. “Alright. I’ll be over in twenty minutes.”

“I love you, Ryan.” 

“You too, man.” 

* * *

“Matt? Matt, hey.” 

A warm, broad hand shook his shoulder roughly. Matt didn’t remember falling asleep, but he must have in the middle of the fourth Smirnoff because it was on its side next to him on the carpet, nearly empty and laying in its own puddle. His mouth was dry and sugary and sticky. And he was still very, very drunk. 

He opened his eyes blearily. “Ryan?” he croaked, lifting a heavy hand to paw at Ryan’s leg. “Hey, you came.”

“Yeah, ‘course I did. C’mere.” Ryan slid his arms underneath Matt and lifted him with a groan, cradling him bridal-style. Matt smiled and buried his face in Ryan’s shirt. 

“You’re so nice to me, man,” Matt slurred into the fabric. “Seriously. I love having you around.”

“I know you do. Let’s put you to bed, okay, baby boy?”

“Okay. Hey, Ryan, y’know who I talked to earlier? Dad. Dale.” Matt giggled and felt his cut sting. “He said he was sorry, but I don’t—I don’t believe a word this guy says.”

“Sorry for what?” Instead of laying Matt down on the bed, Ryan sat, holding Matt in his lap. Matt couldn’t begin to express how grateful he felt for it. He felt so little. He felt like he could be innocent again. He felt young, held tenderly in a man’s arms, like he’d fallen asleep on the couch and he was being tucked in upstairs just a few short hours before he had to get up for church. 

“For all the shit he pulled when I was younger,” Matt said vaguely, rubbing the material of Ryan’s shirt between his fingers. “The bad shit.”

“What kind of bad shit, Matt?” Ryan pressed. 

“The, the, like, uh…” Matt’s tongue tied itself. “It’s… He did bad shit. To me. It hurt, you know? And he doesn’t even know. Not really. He doesn’t get it. He doesn’t know how it felt to… to feel like that.”

Ryan stroked his hand over Matt’s thigh. “Did he hurt you? Like, did he hit you?” 

“No.” That single word suddenly broke Matt. He’d forced it out of his sore throat and it opened up a chasm inside him. Matt’s chest and shoulders seized as his whole body winced, a sob escaping his mouth. 

He began to cry harder than he had in years. It wasn’t out of grief, it wasn’t out of anger, it wasn’t out of a build-up of weeks of depressive episodes. It was dragged from the dark recesses of his childhood, a backlog of repressed memories, the raw, unfiltered pain of being unloved and unprotected and abandoned and broken into and painted over carelessly like an abandoned house. Matt clung to Ryan and wept, arms thrown around his neck and holding on for dear life. 

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Matt gasped out. “I’m sorry, fuck, I d-don’t—ngh.” His fingers sank in deep and fisted Ryan’s shirt in his hands. “H-he—he, uh—he, like. When I was in, I don’t know, fucking, like, fourth grade, he—he touched me. Like. Bad. I was bleeding. And I couldn’t do anything. I was a kid and no one cared.”

“Jesus, Matt,” Ryan whispered, holding him tight. “I’m sorry. Holy shit, I’m so sorry.”

“An’ it’s just like, why didn’t God help me? Why didn’t He bother? I was a kid, you know? Kids aren’t supposed to feel like that. Kids are supposed to fucking, like, go to school and play video games and shit, they’re not, they’re not supposed to feel that way.” Words poured out of Matt in between each jerk of his shoulders, falling out uncontrollably. Clearly everything in his body was trying to prevent them from coming out, because it was becoming increasingly difficult to talk. “I don’t know how the fuck God’s supposed to be real if He lets kids get hurt like that.” 

Ryan didn’t say anything. He just pressed his lips against the top of Matt’s head, stroking his back. Matt choked and cried, weak and boneless, his nose running and staining Ryan’s shirt.

“Hey,” Ryan finally murmured, running his fingers through Matt’s tangled hair, gently pulling knots undone. Matt coughed and sniffled. “Take a breath, okay? You’re gonna make yourself throw up if you keep doing that.” 

Ryan was right. Matt didn’t want to throw up. Not right now. He withdrew himself from Ryan and clumsily wiped a hand across his face, making a sound of disgust when it came away slimy and sticky. 

“Will you let me clean you up?” Ryan asked.

Matt nodded and sniffled again. 

* * *

The bathroom tile was cold under the seat of Matt’s sweatpants. He was slow and exhausted, colors swimming in his vision, his glasses smudged to shit. Bits of bleached blond stuck to the sides of his face in stringy pieces. The cold washcloth on his face that swept them away felt so good. 

“I remember my mom doing this for me years ago, back when I was, like, six or seven and I had nightmares a lot. I guess this is more or less the same thing.” Ryan took Matt’s glasses off his face and set them gingerly on the floor so he could wipe away the tear tracks. “I, um. I’m sorry about earlier. Really. I didn’t mean to be such a dick about the whole thing. I-I didn’t know.” 

“I didn’t tell you, so…” Matt gave a pointless shrug.

“...could I ask you something?”

Matt was briefly reminded of that bit in the _BoJack Horseman_ finale about questions that needed to be introduced and how asking someone to ask something was the most pointless bullshit imaginable. You were just gonna ask anyway. It wasn’t like it was going to soften the blow. “Yeah, sure.” 

“Why didn’t you tell anyone? Like, I’m guessing no one knew, ‘cause he’s obviously not in jail or anything.” 

The blow, as imagined, had not been softened. “I don’t know, Ryan, because I didn’t want anyone to know? Do you think a stupid nine-year-old kid who already gets called a fag at school wants to tell someone that he’s scared he’s going to Hell ‘cause his dad did bad things to him?”

“You got called a fag at school when you were _nine?”_

“I got called a fag since I was fucking born. That’s not the point. Why would I tell anyone? Do you know how completely fucking ashamed you feel over shit like that? And, see, not only that, but they would’ve taken him away from me and from my mom and Sam, my church would’ve known, everyone at school would’ve known—I either kept my goddamn mouth shut or I ruined the lives of literally every person around me.”

“Yeah, you’re right, I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” Ryan looked down and scrubbed Matt’s glasses off with the hem of his shirt before pushing them back up Matt’s nose. “If I’m, like, if I’m ever out of line or anything, you can tell me. I know some of the jokes I’ve made probably aren’t, uh, really mine to make—”

“Dude, you didn’t know, I told you, it’s fine. If I was retroactively pissed about that, it’d be so fucking stupid and it’d be my fault.”

“Can I ask you another question?”

Matt shut his eyes and let his head fall back against the sink. He clenched his teeth at the bang against his skull. “Man, if you wanna ask me something, just ask.”

“Why do you joke about any of that shit if it hurt you this bad?”

“Because it’s funny,” Matt said simply. “And it embarrasses him. Makes him feel bad. It gives me, like, control, I guess. Control that I never had before. Besides, it’s just funny for a religious Southern kid to make jokes about him being in a passionate, consensual, romantic relationship with his dad.”

Ryan bit his lip. “Is it still cool for me to make jokes about that, too?”

“You can make jokes about whatever the fuck you want. It’s fine. No one should be scared of making jokes about something, ‘cause they’re jokes.” Matt was so weary of being awake. His body was weighed down with sand and grit and years and years of heartache. “Hey, kiss me.”

Ryan hesitated, fingers clenching around the washcloth in his hand. That wasn’t unusual, but it had an entirely different context now. Matt suddenly felt a stab of despair: _He thinks I’m broken too._

“Please?” Matt asked, his voice cracking. “Look, just forget about all that other shit right now. I need you.”

“Are you sure?” Ryan sounded so uncertain and it hurt in an impossible way. “I don’t wanna, like…” 

“Don’t wanna what? I’m still the same person. That shit happened to me fifteen years ago. I’m still the same person, Ryan,” Matt said, his tone pleading. He felt himself well up again as he reached out to grasp Ryan’s arms. “Kiss me.” 

At last, Ryan leaned forward and pressed his lips against Matt’s. It was too gentle. Ryan always kissed him too quick or too hungry and it depended on how many people were watching. This was, well, boyfriend behavior. And Ryan wasn’t his boyfriend. Ryan had made that clear many times on no uncertain terms. 

_“I don’t want this to ruin our friendship, okay? We don’t have to label this with anything. We’re just Matt and Ryan. From SuperMega. We can stay normal. And it’ll be fine. I can care about you and fuck you and do shit with you without it being gay.”_

Matt had started to realize a while ago that denying that part of himself wasn’t worth the trouble anymore. He’d done it begrudgingly, but he’d done it nonetheless. Ryan still hadn’t caught up. 

And, well, at the end of the day, Matt had to wonder if he was just Ryan’s exception. That they were just that close and Ryan was emotionally attached enough that he could forget about the dick, he could forget about everything, he could just focus on Matt and not focus on the real world. So Matt should’ve felt special, right? He was Ryan’s exception. 

He was so fucking ungrateful. Like he was about everything else in his life, he was an ungrateful piece of shit. He didn’t know why he was trying to force Ryan to find some kind of enlightenment that Matt himself hadn’t even really found yet. He didn’t know why he couldn’t accept their situation. He didn’t know why everything he got wasn’t enough. It was never enough. Matt was physically incapable of taking what he was given without begging for more like the desperate, pathetic kid he was. 

And he was still trying to keep some part of himself away from Ryan like he was scared of something bigger. It was selfish. He was selfish. He was in control, right? Dale couldn’t take this away from him. If Matt was going to fuck his best-friend-not-boyfriend, Dale couldn’t do shit. And he wasn’t going to make Matt afraid of it. 

Matt’s voice was a little slurred but still certain when he said “Take me to bed”, chasing it into the corner of Ryan’s mouth. 

* * *

This wasn’t his memory. This wasn’t a nightmare. This was the real world, solid and rich and dimly-lit and full, all his, everything his. Matt’s bedroom belonged to him. The apartment (partially) belonged to him. Ryan belonged to him (or he belonged to Ryan, one of the two, Matt couldn’t remember which). And Matt’s body belonged to both him and Ryan. Shared custody of a broken home. 

This was all his, everything his forever right now, and Matt was going to take every piece of it that he could. 

Matt hit the mattress with a delightful rush, the air leaving his lungs in a short exhale. He heard his breath quicken once he got it back, his drunk-clumsy hands grabbing for Ryan as soon as he was within reach. Ryan was out of the way just long enough to ditch his shirt, but he let Matt drag him down soon enough, Matt’s matchstick fingers sinking into soft, hot skin. Matt hooked his leg over Ryan’s waist to urge him down and force him to slide between his legs. He fumbled with the tie in Ryan’s hair as Ryan bit at his bottom lip, sucking on it, making Matt moan when it hurt just right. 

“You’re so fucking hot,” Ryan muttered, pushing Matt’s shirt up, fingernails sinking into his chest. Matt arched into it with a small gasp, his fingers twisting in the dark, rich hair that fell around his hands. “God, fuck, just—let me know if it goes too far, but I want you so fucking bad, Matt. Look at you. Sweet baby boy.” He caught Matt’s mouth again, his hand covering Matt’s side, big and warm and domineering. Matt felt both his dick and his heart throb in tandem. 

Matt pulled on Ryan’s hair, hard and insistent until Ryan broke the kiss again. “Hey, can I try something?” Matt asked breathlessly. “Can I, uh, c-can I call you, like—” He swallowed hard. “Don’t laugh, okay? I’ll seriously kill myself right now if you laugh at me.”

“I’m not gonna laugh at you.”

Matt closed his eyes. “Can I call you ‘Daddy’?” 

He opened them when he didn’t hear Ryan make another sound. Ryan’s eyes were dark, his lips parted ever so slightly. His breathing was noticeably shallow. 

Matt blinked. “I-is that okay?”

“Yeah. Yeah, fuck, that’s...” Ryan cleared his throat and looked back down at Matt’s chest, circling a thumb around his nipple. “That’s okay. Do it. I like it.” He pinched and stroked over Matt’s nipple until it was hard and Matt whined, pushing his chest into Ryan’s hand. “I’ll be your new daddy, Matthew. You want me to be your daddy?”

Matt felt something like an electric shock go down the length of his spine. He nodded, making a high-pitched little shivery sound. “Yeah, I do.” 

Ryan watched him carefully, running a hand down his side. “What do you want Daddy to do for you, baby?”

Matt felt the same kind of excited, nervous, scared horny that he had years and years ago, feeling it for the first time when Dale was in his bed. So new and so terrifying. But without that loss of innocence, it just felt… freeing. Like he was discovering something new. Something new and something guilty, a wrongful pleasure that was black and red and hot all over, burning his gut with the feeling. It was so indulgent. Pure, almost. “I want you to suck my dick.”

Ryan smiled mean and tight, shaking his head. “Daddy doesn’t suck dick, you know that. You think I’m gonna service you like that? You think you deserve that?”

Matt made a choked sound in the back of his throat. “No,” he managed. 

“No, you don’t. You’re not big enough for that yet.” Ryan straightened up and pulled Matt’s sweatpants off, tossing them carelessly to the floor. “Let me get these off so I can see all of you. Then I’ll decide what to do with you, okay?”

“Okay,” Matt said softly, lifting his hips so Ryan could deal with his boxer briefs. Rather unconsciously, Matt lifted his hand to his mouth, pressing against his bottom lip in a vague memory of thumbsucking from his past. It was only then that he remembered his glasses and he tossed them onto the nightstand.

“Look at how pretty you are. All cute and little and pink and blond.” Ryan shifted backwards and slipped his hand under Matt’s thigh, pushing it up until Matt’s knee reached his chest. Matt’s stupid, slurry, Smirnoff-addled brain managed to work out what Ryan’s intentions were and his breath held fast. “So sweet. And all for me. You won’t let anyone see you like this but me, will you, baby? You know you’re all mine, don’t you?”

“Yes.” Matt’s tone was high, childish and timid. He fell into it so easily. “Yes, Daddy, I’m all yours.” 

“Good boy.” Ryan leaned down and kissed the inside of Matt’s thigh before gently pushing it aside. “Daddy has to take care of his baby first before he gives him what he needs.” He brushed the pad of his thumb over Matt’s hole, just barely pressing in. “Are you gonna let Daddy fuck you?”

“Yes.” And, in saying it, Matt made the firm decision that he was going to let it happen. Maybe his critical thinking skills were considerably dulled right now, but he was going to force himself out of this endless cycle of rapidly giving and taking away if it killed him. Fuck, he already asked so much of Ryan to begin with; he couldn’t stand the idea of depriving him of this again. “Anything that Daddy wants.”

“Oh, you’re so good. So good for me.” Ryan kissed Matt’s hole and drew a lazy circle around it with his tongue. Matt’s teeth sank deep into his bottom lip. “I don’t want you to touch yourself, okay? That’s mine. You don’t get to touch it. If you touch yourself, I’m gonna have to punish you.”

“I won’t.” Matt sighed and slid one hand into Ryan’s hair again, his other hand under the back of his knee. Ryan ran his tongue flat over Matt’s rim, lapping at it as he reached up to hold Matt in place, a hand on his stomach. Matt sighed again, loud and luxurious, his eyelashes fluttering. Christ, they were so lucky they were alone tonight. 

There were certain things Ryan would and would not do and Matt knew it always had something to do with how he ranked each activity on a straight-to-gay scale. He had no idea if it was purposeful or implicit, but it was definitely noticeable either way. Sucking dick was gay and Ryan wouldn’t do it, but he’d eat Matt out all day. Sometimes he’d kiss Matt and sometimes he wouldn’t. There were certain positions that Ryan wouldn’t do because they’d require more effort on his part and Ryan would point-blank refuse to get Matt off most of the time. He’d rather watch Matt get himself off. That might’ve just been a power play, but it was also entirely possible that Ryan was still maintaining his weird, arbitrary form of distance. 

It was a lot that Matt didn’t want to get into because unpacking it would be a headache and it would make him miserable. What was happening now was what mattered. This was his, he reminded himself. This was his and this belonged to him. 

* * *

Not touching himself was hard. Matt’s back arched, his fingers clenching tight in Ryan’s hair as his mouth fell open in a loud, girlish moan. Ryan pressed his nose against Matt as he sucked and licked at him, moving his mouth like he was kissing him, dipping his tongue inside Matt’s hole. Matt felt the pressure of Ryan’s finger against him and he tensed up, fluttering. 

“Relax, baby,” Ryan said, low and thick and lazy enough that Matt shuddered at it. Matt was still loose from earlier and Ryan’s saliva-slick finger slid easily inside him. It didn’t stretch or burn, it just opened him up, getting him ready. Ryan spat on Matt’s hole and pushed a second finger inside. 

“You look so fucking good like this. I can’t wait to see you all fucked out, baby. I wanna see you cry big, fat, pretty tears for me. I want you to tell me how much you like having my cock inside you.” Ryan curled his fingers up and Matt let out a cry when he stroked his prostate. “You love my cock, don’t you?”

“Yeah, fuck, I do, I love your cock so much.” Matt’s dick leaked against his stomach, dark and twitching, aching for attention. “I want it, I want it so bad, _ah!”_ His plea ended on a sharp exaltation, his hips jerking when Ryan rubbed him just right. 

“You’re such a little whore, aren’t you? Begging for Daddy’s cock like that.” Ryan added a third finger, maybe a little too soon, but Matt took it in anyway. “I bet you always want it, don’t you? You wanna kneel like a good little boy between my legs while I’m getting work done and swallow like I tell you to. You wanna sit in my lap and warm my cock while I’m busy. So _dirty,_ Matthew. Such a bad little boy.”

“I’m a good boy,” Matt whined, squirming on Ryan’s fingers. “I promise, I’m a good boy.” 

Ryan lifted his head to arch an eyebrow at him. “Are you?” 

“I am, I am, I just need you all the time, you make me feel so good.” Matt sniffled and felt himself tear up from the stimulation, his thighs trembling, heat twisting in his belly. “Ryan, please, fuck, I’m gonna come.” 

Ryan withdrew his hand and Matt had to take a deep breath to collect himself, feeling how deeply flushed he must have looked. He almost regretted saying anything because he suddenly felt so empty. 

“Are you gonna be a good boy and let me fuck you?” Ryan asked quietly, opening Matt’s legs even wider. “Do you really want this?”

Matt closed his eyes and listened to the thrum of his own heart, the blood rushing in his ears, the absence of sound around the two of them. 

“I want you to fuck me,” Matt finally said, twirling a lock of hair around his fingers as he smiled up at Ryan. “Please, Daddy.” 

* * *

Ryan was big enough that by the time he finally bottomed out, Matt didn’t know how it was possible that all of it was able to fit inside him. He felt every thick inch of it buried deep inside him, filling him up, making Matt think that he could feel it in his throat. They’d gotten this far before a fair few times, but it still felt new every time. 

This was Ryan. This was Ryan and Ryan didn’t want to hurt him. This wasn’t Dale. It would never be Dale again. 

But Matt could still pretend that he was innocent enough like he was the first time. Like maybe it still could’ve been Dale, or someone like him, someone who was enough of a father to know him intimately and tenderly, but they cared enough about him to let him make informed decisions. Like Matt could be a disgusting degenerate on purpose. Like he could’ve been given the chance to say yes. 

Like he was doing right now. Ryan could be his dad if he didn’t want to be anything else. Maybe that was the solution. 

When Ryan pulled away and slammed back in, Matt cried out, his fingers scraping Ryan’s back. He didn’t even get a chance to adjust to it before Ryan began fucking him in earnest, setting a fast pace that left Matt absolutely _singing._ Skin smacked skin at a rapid pace, forcing Matt’s legs up higher, his arms hooking around Ryan’s neck. 

“Holy fuck, holy fuck, Ryan—Daddy—oh my God, Christ,” Matt wept, sounding even louder when Ryan adjusted his angle, hitting him in the sweet spot. “Fuck, I need more, f-fucking break me.” 

“You like that, huh?” Ryan panted. He grasped the headboard and used it as leverage, balancing himself so he could fuck into Matt harder. “That feel good, baby? You like it when Daddy fucks you like this?”

Matt wailed and left an open cut on Ryan’s back with his fingernails. 

* * *

“I’m gonna fucking come,” Matt gasped. “Shit, I’m so close, please, please please please, Daddy, let me come, please—” He dissolved again, unable to keep talking. 

“You’re doing so good. You’ve been so good.” Ryan pressed a hot, messy kiss to his lips, all tongue and teeth. “Come for me, baby.” 

Matt came completely untouched, falling apart the second Ryan gave him permission. It hit him so hard it made him dizzy, seeing a crash of stars behind his eyes, his mouth opening in a sound he’d never heard himself make before. It was so fucking filthy, so loud, so intense, utterly helpless. His and Ryan’s chests and stomachs were splattered with thick, hot white as Ryan fucked him through it. 

“Jesus, Matt, fuck me.” Ryan sounded more shattered than Matt had ever heard him before, so insanely vulnerable, placing everything he had in Matt’s hands. In that moment of post-orgasmic clarity, Matt suddenly realized how Ryan felt about their relationship after all. 

When Ryan came inside him, Matt had never felt more whole. 

* * *

Matt was sleepy. He was sweaty and sticky and leaking cum and he was, above all else, sleepy. 

They hadn’t ever had an afterglow before. Not like this. Even though Matt was aware of how sober he still wasn’t, he felt completely at peace, tucked into Ryan’s side and watching him dreamily. 

Ryan snickered a little. “What?” 

Matt grinned. “Nothing.” He traced nonsense shapes over Ryan’s chest, still listless despite being so sleepy. It was just how his brain was wired. “I like this.”

“Of course you do,” Ryan said, derogatory yet affectionate, not breaking from tradition. “I don’t know why you’re such a huge slut for all this gay, cheesy, cutesy cuddly shit.” 

“I’m a girl with a penis, remember?” Matt mumbled, nuzzling into Ryan’s neck. “S’what you said earlier.”

“Yeah, but you don’t have to be that obvious about it.” To his credit, Ryan let him stay. Matt closed his eyes as Ryan rubbed his hip. “So, uh, do you wanna talk about what happened earlier, or—?”

“No,” Matt said quickly, staying right where he was, because it was warm and it was perfect and he wasn’t about to let anything destroy his bliss. “Nothing to talk about. I’m just, like, I’m kinkier than you thought I was.” 

“Nah, I knew. I’ve always known. You wear that shit on your sleeve, dude.” Ryan was quiet for a moment before asking, “This is, uh, this is healthy for you, right? It helps you work through everything?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I think it does.” 

“And you… don’t think you’ll regret it?” 

“No.” Matt did look back up at Ryan this time. “How ‘bout you?”

Ryan shook his head. “No.” 

Matt settled back down. Both of their answers would probably change in the morning after Ryan dealt with the consequences of his feelings and Matt was nursing a hangover and wondering, retroactively, about how consensual this had all been. 

But as it was, in this tiny moment in time, in Matt’s bliss, he was able to close his eyes without thinking of the past. 

Dale had the perfect replacement and Matt belonged to him. 


End file.
